I’d like to think this is special. Declan doesn’t act this way with anyone else. It’s just another dangerous tendril of hope that’s fallen out of place. But no matter how hard I try to tuck it back where it belongs, it doesn’t stay.
The entire walk goes by in a blur. When we reach a small café open late for uni students, the quiet ambiance inside feels instantly more comfortable to me than the noisy atmosphere of the pub. I find a large velvet-upholstered couch and plop onto it while Declan goes to the counter and orders two cappuccinos.
When he delivers mine, I inhale the scent, and it smells divine. This is much more my speed.
Declan sits on the chaise next to me. His hip and arm are both pressed against mine.
I hate myself for how much I think about these little things now. I want to go back to the way I felt earlier today when he was just a friend, and I didn’t relish every small moment for a brief sliver of hope that he might feel the same.
Of course he doesn’t, you fool.
“You okay, Shakespeare?” he asks quietly, nudging my elbow.
“Yeah,” I reply unconvincingly. “Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Do you want me to stop?” His voice is just above a whisper,and his head is turned in my direction, so I feel his breath on my ear. My stomach tightens, and my breathing stutters.
It’s an innocent question.
But those words and the way he whispered them went straight to my groin.
Turning toward him, our eyes meet as I match his volume with a delicate whisper. “No.”
The tense moment lingers, with our eyes boring into each other. With every passing second, my heart picks up speed and gathers more hope, like snowballing optimism.
Then, his mouth tugs into a bright smile. “Aye, good.”
I swallow my discomfort and turn forward, pretending like nothing just happened. I take a sip of my cappuccino as he leans in and asks, “So you wanna tell me what happened back there? You didn’t like the ginger?”
Managing a shrug, I reply, “She was fine. I just…drank too much.”
“She wasn’t your type.” He says it so matter-of-factly I feel momentarily off-balance. I glance at him as he adds, “Neither of them were.”
“I…” Closing my eyes in confusion, my brows furrow as I shake my head. My response slips from my mind before I have the chance to utter it. I don’t want to hide or lie to him. He left the opportunity for sex behind at that pub to bring me home. Declan is more than a roommate at this point. He’s my friend. And I don’t want a friendship built on lies.
“It’s all right, Shelby,” he says as he puts an arm around my shoulder. It’s playful and innocent. “I sort of figured it out.”
My eyes pop open. “You did?”
“Aye. You never talk about lasses you’ve hooked up with in school. I figured maybe you were just shy.”
I stiffen with discomfort. It’s like he discovered a secret I wasn’t even trying to keep.
The café is quiet, but the music playing overhead and thegentle cacophony of hushed conversations disguise our voices. I don’t respond as he continues.
“You can always tell me about the guys you’ve hooked up with. Doesn’t bother me any.”
A laugh slips through my lips.
“What’s so funny?” he whispers.
“I don’t have any blokes or lasses to tell you about.”
I’m definitely still drunk if I’m letting this secret out, but my inhibitions are down the drain back at that pub.
“You don’t mean…” he says with astonishment, turning toward me. His eyes are wide.
The couple at the table nearby glances our way as I shrink into the couch.
